A Gift for Felicity
by Creedog VanDrey
Summary: Felicity is still not pleased with her new role at Queen Consolidated. Luckily for her (and him), Oliver has a present for her. Post 2x02.


A Gift for Felicity  
by Creedog VanDrey

Fandom: _Arrow  
_Genre: Friendship/Humor  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summary: Felicity is still not pleased with her new role at Queen Consolidated. Luckily for her (and him), Oliver has a present for her.  
Spoilers: 2x02 "Identity"

A/N: This is based on a post by televisionamist on Tumblr (Post 64383494233).

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A Gift for Felicity

Oliver strolled into the anteroom before his CEO's office at Queen Consolidated, where his executive assistant's desk was.

"Felicity!"

"What?!" The woman in question replied acidly, putting on the most artificial smile she could muster, one that send daggers in place of rainbows. Her feelings about her "promotion" had not changed.

"Good morning," he greeted her warmly. While his smile wasn't insincere like hers, there was a playfulness that went beyond genuine cordiality. He noticed Felicity was wearing a citrine-colored dress he'd never seen on her. It was so unlike the two-piece outfits she favored during her I.T. days, it likely meant while she may not have been pleased with her new title, her new salary was not something she was protesting.

Seeing his beaming eyes, Felicity's smile devolved into a contrite grimace attempting to be a smile. "Oh, morning, Oliver. Mr. Queen." Her next words were laced with sarcasm: "Sir, would you like for me to get you a cup of… coffee?" The last word lost its menace when her eyes landed on Oliver's hands, holding a to-go cup from Starlingbux Coffee. She excused herself for missing it; the beige color of the cup blended in with his khaki-colored shirt.

"Nope," he overemphasized, "grabbed my own on the way over. I hear the coffee maker's still broken," he noted.

"Yeah," she muttered sheepishly. "I better call someone to fix that."

A succinct nod of the head was his only response.

Five seconds later, as Oliver closed his office door, Felicity snatched up her tablet computer to search for the number of whatever kind of repairman performed such a task—_How did people function before the Internet?_—lowly muttering, "Think you're so funny, don't you, Mr. Chief Executive Archer? When I said I knew Java, I meant the other kind."

The distinctive sound of Oliver clearing his throat nearly caused Felicity to leap out of her chair.

"Oliver. Mr. Queen," she amended.

"No cream, three sugars?" The to-go cup of coffee was set down on her desk. By way of explanation, he noted, "I drank mine on the way over."

So befuddled, it wasn't until his back was turned that she managed to get out a "thanks!" One second later, "And, uh, not to sound unappreciative, but it's actually five sugars," followed by a single breathy chuckle.

Two sugar packets landed tidily in her pencil cup.

"He owes me twenty bucks," Diggle commented as Felicity added the sugar to her coffee. She lurched again, but luckily most of the sugar landed in her beverage. Most.

Felicity spent exactly half a second looking for something to sweep the granules into before deciding the carpet was the optimal spot. "Seriously, Digg, you're going to teach me that ninja walk you two do that allows you to move more quietly in Oxfords than I do in ballet flats." Eyeing the golden-yellow high-heeled clogs that she paired with her dress, she amended, "Did. You should have bet more. I'm pretty sure he made six times that much in the time it took you to mention it."

"True" was all Diggle had to say in response. "And fifty times that in the time it took you to comment on it."

"I'm working."

Felicity got exactly one hour of work done before Oliver was at her desk again, this time escorting a woman. She was young, younger than Felicity, maybe 18, around her height, but skinny as a rail, with olive skin and bottle blond hair. She'd attempted to dress nicely for visiting Queen Consolidated: a pair of black slacks and a frilly, pink blouse. She was carrying in her arms a gray overcoat that must have been three sizes too large for her and a jaunty black bucket cap.

"Felicity, I would like for you to meet Marianne Denny."

"Hi," Felicity remarked, lilting. Her eyes darted between the two, searching for the correct social convention she was lacking.

"Felicity, Marianne is your assistant."

"Why does your executive assistant need her own assistant?" Marianne wondered aloud.

"You got me a coffee girl?" Felicity at this point couldn't remove her smile.

"I'm a coffee girl?" Marianne asked drolly, more resigned than disgruntled.

"You're an assistant," Oliver assured her. "It's just that Felicity is a high trained technical resource who I require constant access to, as she will be leading several private projects for the company, and as such, will not be available to perform all her duties frequently."

Felicity felt plagiarized.

"So, in other words, you two're banging, and you want me doing her job when she's legs up on your desk, _and_ you want me to keep the whole thing quiet."

"No!" was Felicity's indignant response.

"Yes," was Oliver's calm one.

"'Yes'?" was Felicity's twice-as-indignant response to Oliver.

"'Yes' to the last part," Oliver clarified, "A business rival owns half of my company, and I'm attempting several high-risk secret projects to salvage it."

Her indignity at maximum capacity, Felicity added, "And 'no' to the first part. _And_ the second part." She paused a moment to diagram the conversation in her head. "Well, the second half of the second part. As for the first half, yes, I would like for you to do my job."

Coolly as ever, Marianne replied, her hands up in mock surrender, "Whatever. It's not like I can get another job anyway, so I'll be doing this job with a terrifying amount of dedication," she made sure that part was directly at Oliver, "and I'll make myself scarce if need be. Just remember, the outer wall of your office is a giant pane of glass."

It took Felicity a long, open-mouthed moment to compile her thoughts. She pulled Oliver away, hardly out of earshot. "On the one hand, I do like that I'm not your little Miss Moneypenny anymore." She gestured with her left hand. "On the other hand, she's mouthy… which I also like." She snuck a look back at Marianne, who smirked. Felicity turned them back, and briefly she examined both her palms, before hiding them behind her back, "But on the third hand, I really am not comfortable with you not driving home the point that we're not sleeping together, Oliver."

"We're not," he remarked casually to Marianne.

Marianne nodded.

Felicity, fed up, asked as politely as one could through clenched teeth, "Marianne, would you go get us some coffee?" She pointed to Oliver, "He takes it black."

He pointed back, "No cream, five sugars."

Marianne said flatly, "She's already got a mug of coffee on her desk, not even half empty. There's a penguin on it."

"The penguin means I'm an I.T. specialist. I could have an I.V. of Colombian in my arm and it would not be enough caffeine. Coffee, please and thank you."

"We would be most grateful," Oliver added. Marianne rolled her eyes at the courtesy and made her way into the lobby.

She passed by Diggle and asked, "Who are you? And why do you have a gun?"

His gun was safety tucked behind his suit jacket, so he was impressed by her ability to notice the subtle telltale signs of his holster, but he didn't show it. "No coffee for me, thank you."

"This place is so weird," she muttered before walking off.

Back in the anteroom, Felicity was not done with her spiel, her hands gesturing wildly, "Okay, I have many mixed emotions. I love you for getting me a maidservant. However, she _totally_ thinks I slept my way into this position and I am the opposite of liking that."

"I don't care what she thinks, Felicity. In fact, that misconception might just keep her from asking too many questions."

The instant he shifted his weight to turn and head to his office, believing the conversation finished, Felicity reached up and pulled down on her shoulder, disavowing him of that notion.

"_I_ care. I do _not_ want everyone else in this company talking about it. I'm pretty sure they already are, and I don't want them to have a reliable witness who relates that the boss is being blasé about the whole topic. You can do what you want with your reputation. I hope to keep mine a tad bit untarnished, because I will be judged much more harshly. On multiple levels." Her face was vibrating with tension by the end.

Oliver put his hands on her shoulders. "I promise you, Felicity, Marianne will not be gossiping. She's got some motivation to toe the line."

"Yeah, what's that mean? And the whole, 'it's not like I can get another job' thing?"

"I got introduced to Marianne via Roy Harper. She's got a rap sheet as tall as the building, mostly petty theft. Her attitude may leave a little to be desired, but I think she'll work hard now that we've given her the chance."

"So, what is this? New outreach program. 'Helping the Glades, one delinquent at a time'?"

"That's exactly what this is. That's why I'm pushing twenty new properties inside the Glades. The land is dirt cheap after the Undertaking. And it means _hundreds_ of new jobs, both during and after construction. Alderman Blood was right. I can't just throw money at the problem. But I can make money off of it."

"You might want to work on your taglines. It lacked that sense of nobility. You know, completely."

"I'm fighting a two-front war here. I'll take it."

This time, Felicity let him saunter into his office.

"I think I got through that entire conversation with Oliver without a verbal faux pas. I guess my tongue is capable of some pretty amazing things." She flinched and grunted. "Never mind," she whispered under her breath.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her boss pausing halfway through the door, but he strolled in without note.

She spun around, ready to retreat back to her desk. Her spin brought her face to face with Marianne, carrying two Queen Consolidated mugs full of steaming coffee, one of which was presented to her.

Felicity stuck her finger out accusingly. "You heard nothing. _Nothing_." And then she took the coffee.

"I'm giving this to Mr. Queen, and then I'm playing _Candy Crush_ until you give me something else to do." But at that point, Felicity wasn't even listening, sipping her coffee while she stared at one of the three computer monitors an executive assistant apparently needed, along with a tablet and two smartphones.


End file.
